


dancing to a beat of our own, flying with our speakers blown

by wolfhalls



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Accidental Tenderness, Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Terrible Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-07 02:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18401126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfhalls/pseuds/wolfhalls
Summary: “Do you want to talk?” Tyler asks.“No,” Chris says. “I couldn’t think of anything worse right now.”(or: Chris isn't really coping that well, and Tyler is a welcome distraction.)





	dancing to a beat of our own, flying with our speakers blown

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Танцуя в собственном ритме](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18838804) by [Caracara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caracara/pseuds/Caracara)



> so last week i caught up on discovery and here we are. i have surprised precisely no one.
> 
> huge thanks to jojo, who despite not even liking star trek encouraged me to write this and read it when she probably had many other things to do. i love you darling girl. 
> 
> title is from [echo home by the kills](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K1o7GQj4AK0).
> 
> takes place at an unspecified point after ep.12, and very obviously written before ep.13 aired. let's just...pretend they didn't evacuate the ship immediately and nothing of note happened for a while.

It helps to keep his mind full, to focus on nothing but the task at hand. His aim is to exhaust himself, so that he can fall into bed at the end of the day and not have any time for his mind to wander before sleep takes him. He can’t control his dreams, but he can do his best to stop what he saw on Boreth from haunting him during the day too. So he offers his help wherever it is needed – and it turns out that right now, his crew are more than willing to take him up on the offer.

When he was a cadet, eager to get out there and one day, have a ship of his own, he would have given anything to know how his future would pan out. To see if he could be good, if he was enough. The way the crew had screamed, desperate and helpless, as the terrible, terrible burning spread over his body told him that yeah, he’d been good. He tries to think of that when he can’t keep what he’d seen out of his head any longer. _He’d been good. He’d been loved._

Unfortunately for him, working himself to exhaustion every day attracts the attention of his medical officers. Dr. Culber tells him, gently but firmly, that a rest day is a rest day. “I don’t want to see you on the bridge,” he says, loosening the blood pressure cuff from Chris’ arm. “Or the lab. Or Engineering. Just rest, Captain.” He pauses for effect, and Chris imagines that this is how he must have spoken to Stamets all that time ago, before all that they had shared unravelled. “Please,” he says. “We need you.”

-

He holes up in his quarters, rather than head to the mess or the gym. He has plenty of messages to respond to, and maybe he could even find a film to watch. His mind though, free of distraction, has other ideas. There is burning, and panic, and so much noise. _Captain Pike! Oh god, no-_

He tries to calm down, tries to slow his breathing. A year or two ago, Spock had shown him how to meditate properly, and God, does he try now. It doesn’t work. He watches a feed of the Mojave Desert for hours. As the sun rises over the horizon, he wonders if he’ll get a chance to go home before-

“Enough,” he says to himself, and closes his eyes. His voice is loud in the silence of his quarters. He gets up and paces, suddenly very aware of the tight confines of the space. “Computer,” he says, and doesn’t think about why he’s asking. “Location of Specialist Tyler.”

“Specialist Tyler is currently in his quarters,” comes the reply, and for a moment, Chris considers it. It’s barely ten minutes away. Tyler has always come to him though, and Chris is loath to disturb the order of things right now. His mind races.

“Computer,” he says. “Give me a list of all personnel currently in the gym.”

“There are currently 38 crew members in the gym. Lieutenant Detmer, Ensign Tilly, Cadet Cr-”

Chris opens his eyes and raises his hand. “Okay,” he says to himself rather than the computer. “Okay.”

He settles for a run instead. The deck is almost empty, and he sets himself a tough pace. His breath comes quickly, and he forces himself to put one foot in front of the other, faster with each lap. He hasn’t bothered to warm up, and his back complains, but he pushes himself beyond the pain. He doesn’t know how long he runs for, but by the time he makes it back to his quarters, his chest aches and his shirt is soaked through with sweat. A glance at the clock tells him that he’s way past dinner time. He sits down on the bed and leans forward, head in his hands. He’d hoped he’d be tired by now, but he just feels sore and heavy.

Then, there’s a tap at the door. There’s only one person who knocks rather than use the buzzer. It’s a little code they have, so that Chris knows exactly who’s on the other side.

He gets up to open it, doing his best to ignore the way his back protests and his thighs tighten. Twenty years ago, it would have been something he could have brushed off. A few days ago it still would have been easier.

Tyler steps into the room without preamble, holding a PADD. At Chris’ questioning look he shrugs. “The last time, Saru asked me why I was on my way to see you so late. I figured that if I had one of these and walked pretty quickly, everyone would assume that I had something important to discuss with you.”

“Very cunning,” Chris says, and relaxes once the doors have closed them off from the rest of the ship once more. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asks Tyler.

“Yeah,” Tyler says. “Something like that.”

Tyler stands there as he sits back down on the edge of the bed – and he’s so damn tall, his whole body a long, lean line from head to toe. Chris knows what it’s like to have those legs wrapped around his shoulders. A deep, secret knowledge that bothers him every time he sees Tyler on the bridge.

“Do you want to talk?” Tyler asks. He’s already fiddling with his collar, the PADD relegated to the coffee table.

“No,” Chris says. “I couldn’t think of anything worse right now.”

(A few weeks ago, he’d asked Tyler the same thing. Tyler’s gaze had settled somewhere over his left shoulder. “Thank you Captain,” he’d said, suddenly all business again. “But that really isn’t necessary.”)

Tyler moves forwards, and Chris lays back on the bed, spreading his legs so that Tyler can settle between them. It always starts this way – because once he had flipped Tyler over onto his back and he’d gone shock-still, eyes wide and panicked. He lets Tyler take the lead now. He likes it better that way, really. Always has.

Tyler moves his mouth to his neck, kissing down to the collar of his t-shirt. “Can I?” he says, his hands toying with the hem. His breath is warm against Chris’ skin, and Chris nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, anything you like.”

Tyler pulls off his t-shirt in one motion, and Chris wonders, not for the first time, if the old Ash Tyler was clumsy where this one is sure, relaxed rather than a coiled spring. That Tyler is dead though, dead before Chris even knew him. All he has is the one right here.

“You look good,” Tyler says, and he runs a hand down his side, knowing that this will make Chris squirm. “Your hair’s a mess. You’re all-” and here he pauses, bending to press a kiss to the skin just below Chris’s belly button. He laughs when Chris gasps. “It’s nice to see you not so put together.”

“Thanks,” Chris says, and pulls Tyler close. “I feel like hell,” he whispers against his mouth.

“Don’t we all,” Tyler says, and kisses him. Tyler is good at this. He kisses Chris deep and slow, a hand fisted in his hair. They’re pressed together from chest to thigh, and Tyler grinds down on him. Chris groans. “What do you want?” Tyler asks him when they break apart. “Tell me.” He rocks forward again.

 _To make me forget,_ Chris wants to say. “I want you to fuck me,” he says instead.

“Good,” Tyler says. “Let’s take the rest of these things off.”

Naked, Tyler is lovely – all beautiful dark skin and long limbs. He is soft in unexpected places though – his stomach, his inner thighs. There are scars too, a deep, jagged streak that winds down his left leg, a tiny crescent of pale gold just below his collarbone. Chris traces his fingers along these secret, vulnerable spots as Tyler straddles him to reach for the lube.

“Move up a little,” Tyler says, and he urges Chris’ legs further apart as he does just that. Then, his clever fingers are just where Chris wants them, slick and sure and good.

“Come on,” Chris says, and he can hear how his voice is wavering. “I’m pretty sure you don’t want to wait around either.”

Tyler nods, and works him open quickly. When they’d first done this, the night after that shuttle ride, he’d worried he was being too rough, and Chris had told him to just trust him. “I like it,” he’d said – and Tyler hasn’t faltered since.

Tyler’s fingers crook up inside him just so, deep and perfect. “Yes,” Chris gasps. “Yeah, just like that-”

“I’ll make you come just like this,” Tyler says, really lost in it now, their little game. “Do you think you could?” Chris gasps as two fingers become three, and digs his heels into the mattress.

“Please,” he says, not even sure what he’s asking for. He watches Tyler slick himself up, watches how he bites his lip as he works a hand over his cock, eyes roving all over Chris.

Tyler pushes into him bare, which is probably a stupid idea, given that he’s something entirely non-human, spends his time with Section 31 God knows where and with God knows who, and managed to deceive Starfleet’s medical officers for months. It’s an incredibly stupid idea. Chris’s back arches away from the bed anyway. He holds onto Tyler’s shoulder and gasps out a long, shuddering breath.

“Chris-” Tyler says, and his breath hitches when Chris hooks his legs around his waist. “Holy shit.”

“Come on,” Chris says, trying to speak with a captain’s authority, even while he’s out of his mind with want and just on the edge of pleading. “Tyler-”

Tyler’s first thrust almost knocks the air out of him, and he digs his nails into the firm, muscled flesh of his shoulders. “Like that?” he asks, and Chris hears the strain in his voice now.

“Perfect,” he says, letting his head fall back against the pillow. Tyler’s hands are firm on his hips, holding him still, and then he starts to move again.

Chris looks up at the ceiling as Tyler fucks him, because he knows that if he looks at Tyler for any more than a second, he’ll come. So he looks up, and Tyler leans in close to bite him on the neck, just below where the collar of his uniform will sit. He moves relentlessly, and a slow, deep heat builds in the pit of Chris’ stomach. A low, insistent pleasure. He shifts, as much as Tyler’s grip will allow him too and there-

“Gotcha,” Tyler says, and his beard scratches Chris’ jaw. He drives forward with renewed purpose now, striking that deep spot inside him again and again. It’s so good, it’s almost unbearable. He looks to the side of the room, at the shadows cast by the starlight, and then closes his eyes for a while, giving into nothing else but the feeling. He coasts along on the waves of pleasure, breathing in and out, in and out as they build. When he can’t fight it any more, he tugs at Tyler’s hair again, groaning as he tries to catch his breath.

Tyler doesn’t miss a beat. “Are you-”

“Yes, yes-”

“Okay,” Tyler says, and moves so that he can take Chris in hand, shifting his grip up and down in time with his thrusts, “Come on,” he says. “Look at me.”

Chris does, and as soon as his eyes meet Tyler’s own, every nerve ending in his body ramps it up a gear, and he shudders. The deep, balmy heat low in his belly surges outwards and upwards. “I’m gonna-”

Tyler doesn’t look away, not for a second. “Good, good, God-”

Chris comes, over Tyler’s fist and around his cock. It’s almost painful, the way it feels like Tyler is wringing it out of him. He sobs, not caring how it sounds, and writhes through it, breaking Tyler’s gaze as he turns his face to the side, gasping into the pillow. He’s loud, louder than they can afford to be. Never could help it, even back at the Academy. Tyler, for his part, stays quiet, save for a little _ah!_ that could just as well be a sigh. He is focused on Chris’ pleasure rather than his own, and Chris has to close his eyes as they start to well.

It’s only when he goes lax that Tyler starts to move again, seeking nothing but his own release now. Chris is fucked out and oversensitive, but Tyler moving with renewed intent feels so good, he whines and pulls him close again, a leg still hitched up around him. He’d had to tell Tyler that it was okay to do this too, that Chris really, really did like it just on the edge of overwhelming, past the point of oversensitivity.

Tyler kisses him as he comes, groaning into Chris’s mouth as his thrusts turn erratic. He’s talking, something low and guttural that gets lost in the kiss – and Chris just moans back into it, an endless feedback loop.

When he’s done, Tyler rests his forehead against Chris’ shoulder, breathing heavily. “You’re so good,” he whispers. “So, so good.”

Chris’ mind, for the first time in days, is blessedly silent.

_-_

Later, in the shower, he takes stock. He aches all over, from the run and the fuck. He’s not a young man any more, and it’s in moments like this when middle age makes itself known. He knows he’ll feel it tomorrow when he sits in the chair, a lingering ache in his thighs from where Tyler pushed them apart, his back stiff from arching and stretching like a bowstring. He presses a finger to the bruise that Tyler left on his neck.

He misses the Enterprise, he realises. Not just a little, but terribly. He misses the familiarity of his quarters, the personal belongings that he never bothered to have sent over. He misses his crew, Una especially. Hell, the Discovery even sounds different, her constant hum keeping him on edge like his girl never did. _If you’d never come here,_ a tiny, treacherous part of his mind supplies, _then you wouldn’t have known._

He switches the shower off. What’s done is done.

Back in his bedroom, Tyler is sitting on the bed, half dressed. He’s watching something intently, and as Chris approaches he realises that it’s the feed of the desert, still playing from earlier. The sun is high in the sky now – and if Chris thinks hard, really really hard, he can feel the heat of it on the back of his neck.

“Ash was-” Tyler begins, and then he stops himself. “I, uh-. I lived in California too you know. For a while. Little house by a lake.”

“Yeah?” Chris says. “What was it like?”

“Heaven,” Tyler says – and for a moment, he looks so, so young. “I used to think that after all of this was over, I’d go back there.”

“And now?”

“I’m beginning to think that there’s something different planned for me.” He draws his long legs up to his chest, and smiles. “You ever feel the same?”

For a moment, Chris wants to tell him everything, but as soon as he entertains the thought, he dismisses it. None of this is ideal. Soon, they won’t be working with each other any more. Factor in that Tyler is definitely, beyond all reasonable belief, still in love with Burnham, and – well. It’s easier to keep it to himself.

“Yeah,” he says – and Tyler doesn’t push for any further explanation. Instead, he shifts over so that Chris can get into bed, and after a moment of hesitation follows him. It’s a tight squeeze, but he arranges himself so that his head is tucked into the crook of Chris’ neck, a leg slung over his own. He is warm, and solid, and against all recent odds, alive. Those three things are a wonderful distraction right now.

“Is this okay?” Tyler says quietly – and Chris hears it in his voice. All he wants is a little comfort too.

It’s a terrible idea, but Chris savours the moment of tenderness. He pulls Tyler close, and closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> live long and get railed by the secret agent on your ship.


End file.
